As the heat and humidity of the day
begin to cool, all is calm. My youngest stepson has come to live with
us 3 days out of the week, starting this past Wednesday. It's nice to
have him around. It's nice for Violet to have a sibling under the
same roof, even if it is only part time. At 13 years old, Zack is now
a big brother. He seems to be okay with it. He's a good kid. They're
all good kids.
My hair finally started coming out. Not
that there's much of it anyway, but it grew back enough for me to
notice it happening. It's much better knowing that I struck first by
shaving it. Last time, I pulled it out in the shower, which was
definitely a traumatic event.
My second round of chemo kicked my ass
for about 4 days. I'm starting to feel much better, now. Next time
will be worse, I'm sure. The last treatment will also be tough. I
look forward to the month off between chemo and the mastectomy. I'm
not at all looking forward to the surgery, though. I keep telling
myself to join a support group, and I really should, but I've been so
busy. Perhaps I've been hesitant, too. Maybe a part of me is avoiding
the part where I have to lose my breasts. Everything else I can
handle, but that part...that part bothers me. I know I'll be getting
new ones after radiation, but that couple of months with no breasts
frightens me. I don't like to think about it. I need to start
thinking about it. I need to stop hiding, because I know it's going
to happen. Why is this so hard?
Today, my Aunt Chris died of cancer. I
haven't seen her since I was a child, but I remember her. I remember
her beauty, her grace, her gentle way. I remember her bright eyes and
her smile so beautiful, it lit up the world. I haven't seen or heard
too much from Uncle Ken, Aunt Chris, or my cousins since they moved
to New York, years ago...but they were always family. We may not have
communicated a whole lot, with life events and distance getting in
the way. We all still loved one another, though. Last summer, when I
was having a hard time, Uncle Ken reached out to me. I didn't know
that his lovely wife was in the midst of such a harrowing battle.
When I learned she was sick, I hoped for the best, of course. It is
my wish that everyone afflicted with cancer beats it. Hearing that
she was terminal a few weeks ago, weighed heavily in my heart. When
my mother called me today with the news of her passing, the sorrow
hit like a surprise freight train. Neither time nor distance can
destroy the love I have for my family. I was glad to learn that she
died at home, surrounded by her husband and children, but I couldn't
help picturing that moment when she was gone, and what it must have
done to them. I remembered the sounds of my family wailing over my
brother's body in the hospital, two years ago. Nothing sounds like a
family's grief, and it will be with me for the rest of my days.
Aunt Chris, I am sorry I didn't get to
see you through this, but I'm glad you had so many who were there for
you. You were and are such a shining light. We will miss that smile,
those sparkling eyes, and your graceful manner. We will miss your
warmth, your kindness, your beauty. We will miss you.
It may seem strange to some, but
lately, I have been happier and more at peace than I can remember. I
have been gifted with the most beautiful daughter in all the world, I
have a wonderful husband, and friends...so many friends! I am
continuously amazed and humbled at all the love I am receiving, right
now. Even people I've only just met on Facebook are sending me words
of strength and encouragement. I really am quite lucky.
I know I'm still at the beginning of a
difficult road, but this journey holds so much wonder and so much to
be thankful for. There are some scary bits. I recently learned that
after chemo, I'll have to undergo my mastectomy and then do 6-7 weeks
of radiation before I can start reconstruction. That's the only part
that really bothers me. I'm a little afraid of that time without any
breasts. Maybe it bothers me more than it should, but I know there is
no way around it. I know that in order to survive this, my body has
to be brutalized and mangled before it can heal. I keep reminding
myself that George had to go through worse...they removed a sixth of
his brain, and even that couldn't save him.
Yes, I am lucky. Even though I'll be
feeling like hell, the farther I get into treatment, I'm kind of
grateful for this. What I have been given is time...time to ponder,
learn, see, dream, create, and love. Aside from focusing on getting
better, I get to enjoy freedom from other obligations for a while. I
get to be with my little family. When I'm not resting, I'll be able
to write, bead, visit with loved ones...I might even get back into
drawing. The most amazing part in all of this, is the constant
encouragement, and kind words I am receiving from countless others,
some in other parts of the world. Even strangers have been showing
such touching support. They tell me to hang in there, be well, take
care. They send me love and it feels genuine. I receive words like
strong, beautiful, brave, and warrior, daily. This is not to brag,
for I am humbled almost to the point of speechlessness. A lot of the
time, I feel that these sweet well-wishers are being far too
generous. I could ask what I've done to deserve all this positive
energy coming my way, but I don't think it's about what I've done.
It's about what I do with the rest of my days. It's about earning
what I'm receiving by the way I live from here on out.
I could never thank any of the people
reaching out to the capacity that they deserve. Some levels of
kindness are beyond my ability to repay. So I shall do the next best
thing. I will live my life the best way I can, and I will pass
kindness and love onto others. I will remain in a state of gratitude
and work harder at taking the good from everything and sharing what I
can of it. I know it is easier said than done at times, but it it
something to be conscious of and work toward.
This bliss, this calm, this place of
introspection, is a wondrous state of being. I know it won't last
forever, but I think it will be easier to find from now on. It may be
strange for someone who can't even pay the bills to say I have so
much, but I have so much. And to everyone who has and will continue
to show me love and kindness...thank you. A thousand times, thank
you.
It's funny how cancer seems so small
compared to other things. I think other people see it as a bigger
deal than I do. That's not to say that I don't find it important...I
most certainly do! Cancer is a big deal, but for me, there are things
that are much bigger.
As I was playing around on Pinterest
earlier (oh, what a dangerous addiction this could be), I found
myself re-pinning a picture of some lovely children's bunk beds that
had been made into part of the wall of a house. I can only assume it
was a house. You can't typically do those things in apartments. Maybe
it's silly to feel a little saddened by these things, but it did
dampen my spirits a bit. There is so much you can't do with an
apartment. I thought about how I couldn't sleep last night, dealing
with bone-pain from medication, and thinking about not having a back
yard for Violet to play in. I was wondering to myself about
inflatable kiddie pools, and how much they cost. I thought about her
two adorable bathing suits that were gifted to us that she hasn't
even worn, yet. I pictured how cute and happy she would be, splashing
around in a little pool in her bathing suit, wearing the sunglasses
she got yesterday. I want to find her a kiddie pool, but we have no
place to put one. I suppose if they come in small inflatable sizes,
we could haul it across the street with some jugs of water to play in
the park. I suppose that would be alright.
I don't know why it is so important to
me that she has a back yard with a kiddie pool. At this age, it's not
like she'd remember it, anyway. I guess what it boils down to is that
I want a home for my family...as in a house with a yard, where she
can grow up, and we can have a real garden. A place that really feels
like ours. The thought of never making this goal worries me far
greater than cancer ever could. After I am well again, I'll be back
in school, but buying a house will still be so far off. Maybe I just
need to work a little harder.
I love being a mother. I knew I would,
but I am continuously amazed at how much I love it. Every day, Violet
gives me a reason to smile, to laugh, to keep working past the
obstacles that life has thrown my way. I sometimes wonder what people
must think, when they see a new mother who obviously has cancer. Do
they feel pity, sadness, or something else? Maybe it's a mixture of
things. I don't want anyone to feel sorry for me, but I am sure there
are those who do, as I'm sure I would to see another in this
situation. It's alright...I think the situation is tougher for people
to watch than it is to live through.
My beloved baby is eight months old,
already! She can sit up, she chatters away in her baby-talk, and she
loves Sesame Street. Yesterday, we discovered her first tooth, and
she's getting ready to crawl. It won't be long before she's running
around, getting into things, and finding new and amazing ways to melt
my heart. This is incredible.
Sure the cancer is there, but it pales
in comparison to the powerful force I feel for my child. Today, as I
watched her sit peacefully in the grass on a friend's front lawn, in
the early part of evening, when the light was golden, I lost myself
in her wonder as she played with the clover. The traffic hummed, and
the breeze blew her soft wisps of hair about like dandelion seeds. It
was a blissful magic that I know I will cherish forever.
Now as she sleeps, curled up in her
crib, a part of me misses her while she's away. The time is
approaching for me to flee to the realm of dreams, myself. Maybe I
can play with her there, too.
Well,
so much for sleep...at least where last night is concerned. It's a
strange thing to have insomnia at a time when I should be exhausted.
But then, as I recall, this happened to me once or twice when I did
chemotherapy fifteen years ago. I was warned that one of the drugs
could "wire" me, but I assumed that would have already come
and gone, since it's three days later. Perhaps it is something else
keeping me up.
I
tossed and turned for as long as I could bear it. I spent part of my
evening making jewelry and my mind has been brimming with ideas I
want to try, with a backdrop of recordings my mind has made of the
past few days. Violet woke up about fifteen minutes ago, crying in
her crib. She is now nestled in our bed next to her daddy, as she
finishes all of her mornings, these days. I should be with them, but
sometimes the flow of this "in-between" world takes me
elsewhere.
"In-between":
the place in which I seem to reside frequently in my life. Always in a state
of change, of seeking, of reaching for the next phase. There have
been points of stagnation, but perhaps those were just really times
of movement too slow to catch the naked eye, or consciousness. Even
as my life is once again "on hold" for cancer treatment, it
does not feel like I'm stopping, but traveling, walking "that
world", cloaked in a chrysalis, barefoot and bare-headed, taking
in the scenery, and making it all part of my being. If only I could
accurately describe the view...
As
Klaus Thomas, my “Nomi Cat” curls up in a purring ball in my lap,
I am reminded of how cats are often said to dwell within those same
in-between places. Perhaps that's why I have such an affinity for
them. They understand my existence, and I marvel and delight at
theirs. Perhaps these are just the sleep deprived ramblings of a
first-time mother with second-time cancer. Either way, I don't think
that's the important part. I think the important part is that I catch
and savor these moments, even the mildly annoying ones. There is
something more to learn, here. There are places within that I need to
reach outward to.
My
computer has just informed me that it's 6am. Maybe I'll have some
coffee and get back to that jewelry for a bit.
We're in the wee hours of Sunday. Bed
is not far off. Friday, I finally started chemotherapy. It wasn't so
bad, really...all things considered. I've been given a good supply of
anti-nausea meds. I also had to go in yesterday morning for an immune
system boosting-shot. Mainly I've been tired and spacy, with brief
bouts of nausea. No puking, thankfully.
Chemotherapy is cumulative, so I know
I'll be feeling like hell soon enough. I was disappointed to learn
that after my chemo has been completed, I'll have to undergo six
weeks of radiation, five days a week. As it turns out, the breast
tumor is twice the size previously thought, and it has attached
itself to my chest wall. It's still a good prognosis, but we have to
be aggressive with it.
The chemo room has windows lining the
east wall, with easy chairs facing the view of Vancouver Clinic and
some trees. It took a while to get my treatment started, so I had
extra time to look around and play with Violet in my lap. She, of
course, was an instant star, gaining attention from the entire staff.
We went in as a family, with pink scarves on our heads. Violet's came
off quickly, but it was still adorable.
It took a few tries to get a good IV
started. Consequently, I have a bruise in my right inner-arm. We
ended up using my left wrist. It aches a tiny bit, once in a while.
We started with a saline drip, then added to it some anti-nausea
bags. When those were done, the chemo was started. As it turns out,
I'm part of that lucky 10% that gets congestion and headaches from
that particular set of drugs. A benadryl drip with a shot of morphine
(in the IV tube, not my skin, thankfully) took care of it.
By the time we got home, I was feeling
pretty out of it, but not too bad. Even with the added radiation to
come in three months, I'm still okay with this. I'm still ready. This
is a good thing. This is a time to learn, reflect, explore, dream,
and love my little family as much as I can before the mundane world
comes to reclaim me. And of course, this is also a time of rest.
Speaking of rest, it's time I crawled into bed.
